


Shatter Me

by Cyn_Finnegan



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal, Bondage, Fake Character Death, Funeral, Gang Rape, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Object Penetration, Other, POV, PTSD - Quatre, Physical Abuse, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Rock and Roll, Verbal Abuse, bara, new identity, new life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyn_Finnegan/pseuds/Cyn_Finnegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war AU; after a massive betrayal by friends and family and a brutal attack leaves him disgraced and disowned, Quatre fakes his own death and leaves the Colonies behind to start a new life on Earth.  He soon realizes that, no matter how hard you try, you can't always run away from your past.  Eventual Bara (4 x 3 x 4), torture, NCS.  LOOSELY based on Madame Vodka's abandoned fic, "New Life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Pirouette In the Dark

**Shatter Me**

**Series:** Gundam Wing

 **Author:** Cyn Finnegan

 **Summary:** Post-war AU; after a massive betrayal by friends and family and a brutal attack leaves him disgraced and disowned, Quatre fakes his own death and leaves the Colonies behind to start a new life on Earth. He soon realizes that, no matter how hard you try, you can't always run away from your past. Eventual Bara (4 x 3 x 4), torture, NCS. LOOSELY based on Madame Vodka's abandoned fic, "New Life."

**Gundam Wing © Sunrise/Sotsu. Used without permission and not for profit.**

**A/N:** The first three chapters are told from varying first person perspectives: first, Quatre's thoughts on his escape.  Second, the boys and Howard's reactions to Quatre's "death" and funeral, and the third features the girls' reactions.  Chapter Four will reveal the incidents mentioned in the first four.

* * *

**Chapter One: I Pirouette In the Dark**

* * *

Boy, they're all _really_ pissed off with me this time...

Well, no shit, Sherlock!  They're _always_ angry with me!  Nothing I do has _ever_ been good enough for them!

Look, I don't mean to bitch, but I have to get this off my chest.  I'm not who or _what_ people think I am...

To the public, I'm a spoiled, rich brat who's had an easy life, one who's "blessed" with a large, kind and loving family who are too good for him, and was born with the Earth Sphere groveling at my feet because I'm Zaid Winner's only son.  The public doesn't know _dick_ of what I've been through all my life, or what I've had to suffer in recent years.  All they see is a faded, phony smile that hasn't reached my eyes since... well, since halfway through After Colony 195... And I _hate_ it.

What I hate most of all, though, are the majority of my half-sisters, and those sisters hate _me_ , too.  Hell, even _my own father_ hated me... while he was _alive_ , at least.  Betcha didn't know that, did you?  He never let me forget it, either.  You wanna know something else no one knows about my family?  Not one of Zaid Winner's children had the same woman for a mother, if you could call them that.

Here's the thing: all my _half_ -sisters came from eggs taken from my father's four wives and twenty-five of his concubines.  Those eggs were then fertilized in Petri dishes with Father's sperm, and finally, when they'd grown into a big enough clutch of cells, were jammed into giant, womb-shaped test tubes filled with artificial amniotic fluid and left to grow for nine months.  Then they were all "born" within hours of each other on the same day, month, and year.

Though a lot of people think that I was "born" the same way, I am, in fact, the only naturally born child of the lot.  I was born six weeks premature and my mother, Quaterine, died when I was just ten days old.  And contrary to what my father thought, I wasn't partly named for my mother; she named me Quatre because she was French and I was her fourth attempt at having a child.  The other three, all boys, were test tube babies who failed to grow or thrive.

Here's another little tidbit: since dear old Dad was a _devout_ Muslim, though Mama _wasn't_ , no autopsy was ever performed on her, so I'll probably never know if I really was the cause of her death or if someone killed her because she was carrying me.

Why would any man force twenty-nine different women to go through in vitro fertilization at the same time in the hope of having _one child_ turn out to be the son and heir he craved?  And why have his only naturally born child spend most of his life believing he, too, came from a test tube?  Hubris, mainly.  It seems that, since my father's family settled in the L4 cluster nearly two hundred years ago, all the men in it have had fertility issues.  In other words, they tend to shoot blanks, so the cloning of sperm cells, IVF, and mechanical wombs have been how my family's reproduced ever since.

Father called it the "Winner Curse."

Me?  I couldn't make a baby if I _wanted_ to, and I _don't_.  Spacers' disease hit me big time when I was ten, rendering me completely sterile, and even if I weren't, I wouldn't wish my "childhood," especially the bogus "created for the sake of convenience" part, on another living being, offspring or not.

By the way, Mama's death was _the_ reason why my father hated me.  "She sacrificed herself to bring an ungrateful brat into the Sphere," my father's words, not mine, and I just happen to look like a masculine version of her.  That and the fact of his knowing about my being as straight as a corkscrew four years before _I_ finally figured it out for myself didn't exactly help matters between us much, either.

You see, in spite of the fact that it's widely accepted on Earth, many colonies frown on anything other than heterosexuality, especially my native cluster, L4.  Imprisonment for being gay isn't uncommon here, and while they're _supposed_ to be rare, so-called "honor" killings aren't unheard of, either.  I've avoided jail so far because of my status as Zaid Winner's only son, and the fact that the colonies will lose a _lot_ of financial support if I'm imprisoned, and though they'll deny it, some of my brothers-in-law have made several attempts on my life since _it_ happened, and labeled me an abomination.

Anyway, the only times most of the twenty-eight strangers or the other members of WinnerCorp's board of directors ever contacted me were either to complain about my ideas (which, I might add, have made _them_ money, too) or to boast about how fucking great they all think they are.  They're always bitching and whining at me about how Father did a far better job than I've ever done, or bragging on and on about how they could do a much better job than I ever could, not that they've ever gotten off their asses and proven it.

Speaking of sisters, I thank Allah for Iria.  She's the only person from my old life that I'm really gonna miss, even if it's only for keeping me halfway sane through the shit storm my life has been these past few months.  Since the war, she's been the only one of the whole damned gaggle who's ever been solidly in my corner, loved and accepted me for who and what I am, and treated me like her brother, and not like the bastard at a family reunion.  She also broke the promise our father forced her to make and told me all about my mother Quaterine, whom she says I look exactly like, my birth and her death shortly after.

Okay, I'll miss Amina, a.k.a. Sister number two, as well; at least she was halfway decent towards me, and even drew up a will for me to make this whole scam look good.  In exchange, I left her the company, mainly to keep it out of the clutches of half-sister number three, Yasmin, and her husband Tariq.  Those two do not know the meaning of living within your means.  They'd most likely run the company into the ground within a year.

Oh, yeah... while we're on the subject of bastards, when I was three or four, I overheard the aforementioned Yasmin refer to my mother as "Father's French whore" and to me as "the little bastard" to one of the others, and she agreed with her.  Being too smart for my own good, I looked the words up in the dictionary and didn't like what they meant.  I'm guessing it was because Father replaced _her_ mother with mine as one of his four wives.

Of course, I didn't know they were my sisters, too, until Father's _Janazah_ , his burial ceremony.

When I was six, half-sister number 14, I think her name's Naila, gave Father the _brilliant_ idea to send me to a public school.  According to her, it was supposed to "socialize" me and "toughen" me up.  Within three months of registration, I was in the ICU for getting the shit kicked out of me by a bunch of bigger, older boys, declared a "disruptive influence" by my so-called teacher and principal, and sent back to isolation and home schooling.  Now, the majority of the board and my sisters employ the very assholes who tormented me during that brief, painful time.

Why would they do such a thing, you ask?  According to what they tell the gossip mongers, I did it because I'm the nice guy, the forgiving guy, the happy guy who gives everyone the shirt off his back.  In reality, it's just a bunch of public relations bullshit one of the half-sisters cooked up to keep "dearest little Quatre" in line and show the Sphere what a "nice" guy I am.

Well, _screw_ that.  So long, Mister Nice Guy, and don't let the door hit your skinny blond ass on the way out.

If that's all I am to them, then I certainly _don't_ want to be a Winner anymore.  I'm so fucking fed up with the arguments and petty bickering.  I hate being a figurehead, working long hours, missing meals, wearing suits (which my father never wore a day in his _life_!), and dealing with hostile competitors and shallow assholes who think they can corrupt me into giving them power that I've never had.  I hate this quasi-life I was forced into, and I'm tired of seeing everyone I've ever loved or cared about hating me, of coming home to my father's huge, empty mansion, and of constantly being haunted by the echoes of my past.  I've so many memories of growing up in that mausoleum, and not one of them a happy one.

My only truly happy memories are of things that happened while I was on Earth.  I want to go back there, find some town in the middle of nowhere where no one knows who Quatre Raberba Winner is, move into a flat and finally LIVE my life.  I'm seventeen now, for piss sake!  I don't care if it is "selfish," I deserve a chance to live my own life and to have a little fun without fretting myself into an early grave over my father's stupid company!  I'd fought for a life I could be proud of, and then I threw it all away when I ran back to the L-4 cluster and started working there!

Watching the news and peoples' reactions to my "retirement" almost made me smile.  Alone in my cheap hotel room, armed only with preparation, I'm listening to the media's lies.  I may not be anyone special anymore, but damn it, I'm going to finally be happy, and _no one_ will ever take that away from me again.  People are going to judge me anyway, right?  So I might as well live my life the way I fucking well want to.

I'm only packing a few things to go with me; mostly my violin and some thrift shop jeans and t-shirts I'd bought months ago for this occasion.  I've got my old shuttle set up for a "business" trip, but this will the last time Quatre Raberba Winner will ever be making an appearance.  Let's face it, anyone that would have cared if I were alive or dead stopped caring about it a long time ago.  I've shed my tears, gotten over the loss of my so-called "friends," and I'm moving on.

My makeover went well; so well that I don't even recognize myself anymore.  The young man looking back at me from the mirror has shaggy, shoulder length black hair (do you know what kind of Hell I went through to hide the fact I was growing it out?) and bottle green eyes (thank you, cosmetic contacts).  A little light hacking into my life records and a couple hundred credits spent here and there equaled a new name, birth certificate, a driver's license, and a triple-A credit rating.

Now that I'm finished, no one will be able to prove Quatre Raberba Winner ever existed, or that Christopher Alexander Thomas never did, at least not past his tenth birthday.

I was feeling a little sentimental when I chose my new name; I wanted to keep the nickname Cat because that's what they used to call me.  We were all friends and equals once, my brothers-in-arms and I, fighting together in the wars, but where are they _now?_   I don't know and, quite frankly, I couldn't care less.  They ditched my skinny ass during my all-too-brief and horrible stint with Preventer and never once looked back to see how I was faring after IT happened.

One "friend" promised to call me at least once a week, but never did.  Another "friend," supposedly my _best_ friend, swore he'd kidnap me if he found out I'd been working too hard, just so I could take a break, but he never bothered, either.  All the three of them did was beat me down, break my spirit, and belittle me for things that I couldn't have done.

The only thing the fourth one broke was my _heart._

And then there were the forty men who, at one time, were more loyal to me than my family had ever been, called me "master" out of respect instead of fear, and who treated me as their equal.  They ditched me after what happened to make me leave Preventer.  Now, the other Gundam pilots and the Maguanacs are all just a bunch of bad memories of a different life... or maybe just a part of a long, drawn-out nightmare I've finally woken up from.

Hey, maybe Chris could stand trial for all the soldiers' lives I took, and for the colony and resource satellite I destroyed.  I once made a promise to myself that if any survivors or their families found me and demanded my blood as payment for my crimes, I wouldn't run away or beg for forgiveness, but accept my fate.  I killed to protect my father, Iria and my other sisters, and I killed to bring about peace, so I should be killed in retribution for my crimes.

As part of its numerous charities, WinnerCorp built new colonies to replace the ones I'd damaged or destroyed, and funded the construction of several orphanages, but that doesn't come anywhere close to repaying the lives the corporation's junior grade CEO wannabe ruined when the people who lived and worked there were displaced.

I know I could blame the ZERO System, or the members of the colony council who allowed OZ to murder my father and hurt my eldest sister, but I've chosen not to assign any more blame to anyone or anything.  The blame's squarely on _my_ shoulders, and the blood's on my hands.  I can't erase or ignore it, so until they come for me, there's nothing I can do.  I considered suicide an option for a while, and even made a half-assed attempt at it after the incident, but how would killing myself change the past?  How would it change _anything_?  Only justice will do that.

Allah, I'm beginning to sound like Wu Fei.

Arrgh!  I've gotta stop saying/thinking that name!  Chris is an Atheist, not a Muslim, not that I was ever a very good one of those to begin with.  After all, I fell in love with another boy, didn't I, even if he didn't love me back?

For months now, I've been planning my escape.  I recreated Chris and his life's history; an L-4 orphan whose father abandoned him at birth, much the way my own father did, but whose mother died during an Alliance crackdown, and who emigrated to Earth just before the end of the war.  I opened his bank account with the funds I'd pilfered from OZ and the Alliance, then applied for and got him a drivers' license and a credit card.

I don't know where he'd want to live or work.  Certainly not in Cinq; too many people there would recognize me, especially Relena and Hiiro, though I know neither of them could be bothered to acknowledge me.  Same with the Arabian Desert, only it would be Rashid, Auda, Abdul, and Ahmed.  I once thought of them as my _real_ family, but like my former friends, the Maguanac Corps turned their backs on me when I needed them most, so their further censure is the _last_ thing I need.

Getting off the commercial shuttle, I put in a pair of wireless earbuds, turn on my audio player, choose a song called "Once in a Lifetime" by a pre-colony alternative band called the Talking Heads, and put it on replay.  Contrary to what my former friends thought, classical music isn't the only type of music I like.  I enjoy most kinds: classical, rock, blues, soul, rap, dubstep... okay, maybe not country.  Country's too maudlin for my tastes.

I've already traveled over ten thousand miles, and soon, all my old clothes, credit cards, the wisdom tooth Wu Fei knocked out of my mouth, and a cheap violin will burn up with the meat puppet* sitting in the pilot's seat when I detonate my old shuttle as it hits the wave course.  The only things that _might_ survive are the tooth, which they'll use the DNA out of to verify my "death," and my old Preventer-issued Gundanium dog tags.  I've made it impossible for any of them to track me or Sandrock, not that any of them would care enough to.  After all, who'd want to look for an unloved dead man and his quasi-legal Gundanium mobile suit?

Okay, enough with the reminiscing and wool gathering.  You know what I want to do now?

Call me a romantic fool, but I want to find real love.

Arguably, I don't _deserve_ to, but it's what I crave.

They say you can't find true love, that _it_ finds _you_ , but I don't care.  I'm gonna search the world for a feeling, and maybe have it _returned_ this time.

Once upon a time, I thought I'd found the love I've always wanted, but I hadn't, not really.  As time wore on, I realized his gentle smiles weren't for me and that, even if he _did_ return my feelings at one time, being with him would be impossible now, especially in the aftermath of the incident, when I heard him say he'd rather fuck a maggot-ridden corpse than spend another minute in my unwanted company.

Kind-of ironic, him saying that, considering the fact that before _it_ happened, before I was _violated_ in _the worst way possible_ , Trowa had been using me as a substitute for a teddy bear.

There's also the little fact that, except for Iria, none of my family would have approved of our being together because he was another male.

Trowa's probably engaged to that girl, Lady Une's sister Middie, by now, his own sister helping her to plan out the perfect wedding with the rest of my former friends and their loved ones in attendance.  After all, he wasn't exactly fighting her off when I saw them kissing just before that botched mission, and he made it perfectly clear after _it_ happened that he didn't share my feelings...

As I exit Andrews Space Port, I realize that I can still "feel" Trowa in my heart _and_ in the back of my mind.  I don't want to hurt him, even though he's hurt me, but I _don't_ want him to figure out I'm alive and end up _using_ this damned "bond" we share to find me.  Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, my fingers find the pen-shaped detonation switch for my old shuttle and press the button on top.  There's a ten second delay until the blast, and in that time, I completely shut down my Space Heart.  That should keep anyone from thinking I'm still around to bother them.

I want to see more of the world I helped bring about.  From my previous visits here, I know the Earth's a beautiful place full of kind people.  There's no artificial sunlight or regularly scheduled rain, and NO funky-smelling recycled air here, either.  It's all real, wild, and natural.  I want to see the sights of beauty poets and historians raved about through time, but I want to see the land we destroyed, too.  Maybe the truth about humanity lives there, because it _certainly_ doesn't live in outer space.  I know; I've looked.

Maybe here on Earth, I'll finally find a purpose to my life besides making money or dealing death, and maybe, just _maybe_ , I can give my body, mind, heart, and soul a chance to finally _heal_.

*******

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've added a couple paragraphs (one about the "Winner Curse," which only affects the men in his family, and the other about Cat shutting down his empathic "bond" with Trowa), dropped a big hint about "it," and a couple additions to the Author's notes.
> 
> Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing a first person narrative, so please be kind. The next couple of chapters will be in segments told from some of the others' points of view, then shift back to Quatre's perspective. Chapter Six will be from Trowa perspective.
> 
> What I was thinking about the GW version of test tube babies is Louise Brown, the World's first test tube baby, taken to the logical (or, in Zaid Winner's case, illogical) extreme, rather than cloning. In my head canon, cloning sperm cells and organs for transplantation is legal, but cloning an entire human being for whatever purposes isn't.
> 
> Andrews Space Port is what we currently call Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland.
> 
> I think I need to explain what a meat puppet is, because unless you've watched forensics heavy TV shows such as CSI (any of them) or Bones, you probably don't know what one is. Simply put, they are processed luncheon meat, such as Spam or Treet, that's been layered onto a skeleton made of artificial bone, and they're sometimes used to stand in for a frozen pig in determining the length of time it takes for a human body to burn. Gross, I know, but a pig takes almost two weeks to thaw in a refrigerator, and using a frozen one skews the results.
> 
> You can see Cat's ear buds here: https://www.cricketwireless.com/cell-phone-accessories/motorola-buds-bluetooth-blue.html
> 
> In this, "life records" are just that; record of your life, such as birth, medical, dental, school, employment, and social security records.
> 
> I've got a pretty good idea where I'm going with this fic, so please bear with me, but I've been a bit stuck on my other stories and wanted to start writing again. Hope you enjoy it.


	2. I See the Stars Through Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheeseburgers, Cat's thoughts on his freedom, and some mourners' thoughts on his "death."

**Chapter Summary:** Quatre's thoughts on his "death," funeral, and first night of freedom, plus the feelings of most of the other Gundam pilots during the funeral, told from the first-person perspectives of them, Howard, Rashid, and Zechs.

 **Disclaimers, Warnings, Ratings, Archive, Etc.:** See Chapter One.

**Gundam Wing © Sunrise/Sotsu. Used without permission and not for profit.**

 

** Chapter Two: I See the Stars Through Me... **

 

You know, for all intents and purposes, being dead feels _weird_.

I mean, I know I'm not really dead; that I'm basically a dead man walking is a given. What's so weird is people I don't know, people who have never met me in their _lives_ , all seem to be mourning my "passing" as though they knew me personally. If any of those people ever found out I'm a Gundam pilot, they'd probably want to publicly lynch me. Good thing the government ordered that any and all information Treize collected on the Gundam pilots be purged from the Web in early 196, or I'd be in deep shit right now. [1]

Per Muslim custom, my _Janazah_ will be late tomorrow afternoon, and it's being held here on Earth as per my "final" wishes. [2] Why? Mostly to piss Yasmin and the rest of the half-sisters off. With the exceptions of Iria and Amina, my half-sisters don't care much for this beautiful planet where humans originated from, and I could never figure out why. To them, the colonies are far superior to the Earth, even though we have to import nearly all our fresh foodstuffs and medicines from there.

Sound crazy? Yeah, it is, but it's the same attitude our father had about it, so go figure.

Since my connecting flight to wherever I'm going isn't until tomorrow evening, I'm finding myself at a loss and wondering who's going to be at the funeral service in the morning, if anyone bothers to show up at all. I guess I could always pull the same stunt Tom Sawyer did and find out, but I think I'd rather watch from the back of the chapel than from the crawlspace in the ceiling. [3] It's about a thirty foot drop to the floor, and that's a mighty _long_ way to fall.

By the time I arrived at my hotel, the cheapest and cleanest one I could find, I was beginning to feel jet lagged from the shuttle ride and footsore from the very long walk to get here. I made three spur-of-the-moment stops along the way; the first was a pawn shop, where I purchased a guitar and a laptop; the second was a used bookstore where I bought a cookbook titled _The Frugal Gourmet_ so I could sharpen my meager culinary skills and a paperback copy of _Tom Sawyer_ to replace the hard back one Instructor H gave me during my training, and the third at a hamburger stand to pick up dinner.

I need the laptop to look for a job and a place to live, but I don't know what the Hell possessed me to buy the guitar, except that I've always wanted one, and this one can go from acoustic to electric with the addition of an amplifier. I'd taught myself to play Howard's old acoustic on Peacemillion; then again, I've always been something of a child prodigy, musically and otherwise.

That brings me back to the books. Unlike my father, Instructor H encouraged me to read for pleasure, telling me that books were for more than just learning, but for enjoyment, too. When she found my copy of _Tom Sawyer_ shortly after the Barton rebellion ended, Yasmin flipped through it, called it trash and had it burned. Unfortunately, the flyleaves had some of my handwritten programming notes for the ZERO System prototype I'd been working on written on them. [4]

Well, those programming notes were for _Trowa_ to read, not me. Fortunate or not, I still have those coding notes locked up inside my head, and can recreate them any time I want. Hell, give me a couple hours and a pair of optidisks, and I can _recreate the entire system_ from scratch if I feel like it, but unless there's some dire reason for me to do so, I won't do it. I refuse to.

I may have _mastered_ the system towards the end of the war, but what it made me do during my first exposure to it still scares the living shit out of me, and the fact that OZ made their own, worse version of it, one that drove even those who'd mastered it insane, has given me more than a few sleepless nights. Just ask Zechs or Dorothy about it sometime. Of course, Dorothy was insane _before_ she ever used the Epyon System, but that's neither here nor there...

Even if the only people I killed were OZ soldiers, I _destroyed_ the resource satellite my father died on, obliterated one colony, badly damaged another, and nearly killed the only person in the universe I'd ever truly loved, other than Iria.

Should've known what I felt would go unrequited.

Should've known that I was only a _stand-in_ for Middie, who's blonde haired and blue eyed, too.

If I'd never seen them kiss, I'd still have the memory of the only time we ever did to fantasize about.

Gah, I'm driving myself crazy thinking like that! That's not me any more!

The double cheeseburger with everything _but_ bacon on it, large order of onion rings, and triple-thick chocolate shake I ordered are all the comfort foods I've been craving for a long time, but haven't indulged in since the Barton Rebellion was halted. Hard to indulge in your favorite junk foods when you've got twenty-seven out of twenty-nine much older sisters and their husbands hoping you'll drop your guard long enough for them to make another attempt at ridding the Earth Sphere of your presence, preferably by dropping some cyanide or arsenic in your milkshake.

Checking in, I took my key card, caught the lift to the fifth floor and made a beeline straight for my room. I've never figured out why, but traveling by shuttle, and that's _any_ shuttle, not just commercial ones, always makes me feel... ugh. You know, like I've been dipped in mechanics' grease and rolled in dust and dryer lint. Grungy, that's the word for it, and the thought of stepping into a nice, hot shower, followed up by stuffing myself with mass quantities of junk food sounds like heaven right now _._

I set my dinner and my sunglasses on the nightstand and my duffle and other packages on the bed, and then turned on the TV for noise, and dug some clean clothes and a special dye kit for eyebrows and lashes out of said duffel. Setting the clothes on a chair for tomorrow, I started to strip out of my traveling clothes, dropping them on the floor behind me as I went into the bathroom. In about ten minutes, I'd feel like a new man again.

Though some wimps would call the water temperature I like just short of scalding, the warmth of it felt _good_ , and so did the soap and shampoo. Nothing gets rid of shuttle grunge and relaxes tense muscles better than hot water. When I got out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pair of towels and a slight smile, the news of my "death" was being broadcast all over Earth and Space.

" _... Just an hour ago, the private shuttle belonging to former Winner heir, former WinnerCorp CEO, and unintentional porn star Quatre Winner exploded while entering the Earth's atmosphere. No word yet from authorities on whether his death was an accident or another attempt at suicide, but this video, released just a few months ago, shows how low Winner had fallen..._ "

Well, isn't that just fan- _fucking_ -tastic. Figures they'd bring up the altered video evidence of my being... God, I can't even _think_ the word, but make no mistake, that is exactly what it was... and use it to make me sound like some kind of suicidal sex fiend! Any idiot with a brain and a functioning pair of ears who's ever heard my voice could tell that's not _me_ moaning and begging for more...! I was still a _virgin_ when it happened...! Fucking _bastards_... why can't they just let me rest in __peace?!__

The next story, which was out of New York, stopped my internal rant, and almost stopped my heart, too.

" _... In Manhattan today, a Preventer agent collapsed while acting as a bodyguard for Vice Foreign Minister Gwinter Septem. The agent, whose name is being withheld per his family's request, was taken to Saint Vincent's Hospital in serious but stable condition, and is resting comfortably. A spokesperson for the agency credited the agent's lack of serious injuries to the advanced training he underwent..._ "

Upon hearing this, I let a few angry tears slide down my cheeks. This is all _my_ fault. Trowa must've collapsed the moment I shut down the bond between us. I _know_ from the report he was physically hurt, but I don't know how badly. I don't know why, but my empathy... my _space heart_... isn't working anymore. Duo... Wu Fei... Hiiro... _Trowa_... I - I can't _feel_ any of them. I - I know I've always felt this "gift" of mine was more of a _curse_ than a blessing, but is this what being __normal_ _ is like? I-I'm beginning to panic...

All right... close your eyes... find your center, just like H taught you... breathe in... breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's it... now concentrate on slowing your heart... breathe... calm down. Think of five things you can see... four things you can touch... three things you can hear... two things you can smell... and one thing you can taste.

I've been having these panic attacks since it happened. I've also had nightmares and flashbacks robbing me of sleep and my appetite.

I'll think about what I'm going to do tomorrow in the morning. Right now, I've lost my appetite and I'm exhausted from the panic attack, so I really do need some sleep.

As for not feeling my former friends any more, I think I can deal with the loss...

Eventually.

**\- = 0 = -**

** Wu Fei **

The news of your death sure sent a lot of tongues wagging around Preventer, more so than that stupid fake video did.

Even _I_ was shocked when I first heard the news. So, why'd you leave? You'd always been... okay, not exactly blindly devoted, but mostly loyal to ESUN and the agency before you left six months ago, so what happened to you, Quatre? What _ _ __really____ made you leave?

At first, I thought maybe you'd found true meaning, like what I once had with Nataku, or what I could have had with Sally, if I hadn't fucked things up somehow. Maybe not; not with twenty-eight meddling biddies and the bastards they're married to trying to control your every move, including your relationships with us.

Or maybe you really were the weak coward I'd pegged you for being during the war. Only a _coward_ would run away. Besides, unlike Hiiro and Duo, I'm sure we did the right thing in cutting you out of the loop. The leak stopped after you left. Sally's still pissed off at me because of you, and I can't figure out why, but whenever she looks at me now, it's always with a _ _ __if you'd cared about him, you could have prevented this____ look.

Of course, after the way Hiiro, Duo, and I treated you before you quit the agency, I don't blame you for wanting to cut your ties with us, but why'd you cut Trowa off, too? Though you were more of a comrade to me and Hiiro, and like a little brother to Duo, you were the love of Trowa's life. He believed you... believed _in_ you... when all the evidence was stacked against you, but I'm still not completely convinced he wasn't just covering your ass because he's in love with you.

After one of your sisters announced your "retirement" from WinnerCorp a few months back, Une asked me if I could contact you and offer you your job back, with full pay, benefits, and back pay for the time you'd lost. I told her flat out I couldn't make you an offer if I couldn't talk to you, and even if I could get in to see you, you'd never let me _near_ enough to _make_ an offer, let alone accept it. Seems you'd done a damned admirable job of erasing yourself from our lives and none of us, not even Hiiro, could find you.

Our failures broke Trowa's heart; it was getting difficult to see the look of pain and disappointment on his face after each one.

Speaking of Trowa, I don't see him anywhere, but I _do_ see his friend... no, not friend, _sister_... Catherine here. She looks terrible, like the weight of the world was suddenly dropped on to her shoulders. One of your sisters is approaching her... I think her name's Yasmin, telling her to leave and... ouch... Cathy just punched Yasmin, hard, called her a bitch, and is now yelling at all of us for what happened to you and Trowa.

If I'd ever found you, the first thing I'd have done was hug you and tell you how sorry I was, not only for hurting you, but for _doubting_ you in the first place, then smacked you upside your head, scolded you for hacking into your life records because it's supposed to be impossible, and find out just how the Hell you did it. Mine could have used a little creative editing, too.

I'd have asked you, too, you jumped-up little shit, if we'd succeeded in finding you before you left forever.

** Duo **

Wow.

Wow's all I can really say about any of this. How could one scrawny-assed seventeen-year-old kid bypass all the security they'd set up in his life and ditch his many half-sisters and employees? The whole Sphere knew his name, if not his face, by now, and yet he managed to give 'em all the slip and vanish without a trace. [5]

Had you managed to finally pass five foot five? Had your sisters taken away what was left of your personality and turned you into a robot? I kinda doubt it. If two wars couldn't change you, then a couple months of being in their dubious company couldn't, either.

Roll over, Houdini; you had a new successor, and his name was Quatre Raberba Winner.

I'd half-hoped you'd come to DC and stay with us; Hilde and me, I mean. It woulda been nice to see my best friend again, and screw the shrews who called you their brother, except for Iria, who thought seeing us would be _good_ for you. She's cool, and Amina seems to be okay, too, but the others wouldn't let any of us near you after you were attacked. Hell, one of 'em, Yasmin, even tried _paying_ us off just to leave you alone. I sent the check back, and I think Hiiro and Fei did theirs, too, but Trowa went to your home colony, marched up to the bitch, shredded it right in front of her and threw it in her face. He even took a photo to prove it.

Speaking of Yasmin, Cathy just punched the bitch in the face just as I was telling Hilde how you always seemed to have the devil's own luck, until now. Go, Cathy!

We all tried tracking you down so we could see you, Hiiro, Wu Fei, Trowa, and I, but we blew it big time, which really pissed Hiiro off. How could someone be better at hacking than _him_? How? Yet, I sorta feel a small sense of fraternal pride as, unknown to everyone but the two of us, _I'm_ the one who helped you perfect your hacking skills during the war. I'm almost _glad_ I couldn't track you down, because it meant that no one else would be able to, either, but I'm saddened I've lost someone so dear to me.

What am I _thinking_? You probably wound up believing you couldn't be too dear to any of us after the shitty way we treated you. _We_ cut you out of _our_ lives first. I was pissed off at you and avoiding you, so I didn't know Hiiro and Wu Fei tried to beat the living shit outta you for something they later found out you _couldn't_ have done. No one was taking yours or his word for it, so Trowa was trying to find more evidence to clear you.

Of course, there's some speculation on who'd wanna set you up, but no one's owning up to it...

Yet.

Someone's gonna start bragging soon, though. Count on it.

Even though I'm at your funeral, Cat, I can't help feeling you're not really dead, and neither can Hilde. I know there'll come a day when we'll see you again; I just hope that, when the time comes, you'll forgive me and greet me like the little brother I've always wanted you to be, Hiiro and Wu Fei as the old friends they once were, Trowa as the lover you've always needed and deserved, and that you'll forgive the three of us for not believing in you and turning our backs on you.

Well, wherever you are now, try to have some fun, okay? After all the Hell you've been through in life, you deserve a little bit of Heaven. Until we see each other again, take care of yourself, squirt, and if you _are_ in Heaven with them, say "hello" to Solo, Father Maxwell, and Sister Helen for me, willya?

** Hiiro **

Some friend I turned out to be, huh?

I used to think of you as my friend and little brother once...

What am I _saying_?

If I were such a great fucking friend to you... such a great fucking _brother_ to you... how could I have _done_ that to you? I believed the first lies someone told about you, helped to beat the Hell out of you, called you some of the _worst_ things I could think of, ignored you and hung you out to dry. I called Trowa a liar when he told me you were innocent, and told him he was stupid for trying to find the proof to clear you, then I let you be _destroyed by those bastards._

I'm sorry... _I'm so sorry_... I should've _believed_ you.

Relena's worried about me, and she shouldn't be, because I'm not worth it. Not her anger, and not her forgiveness, either.

Yeah, _some great fucking brother_ I turned out to be...

**Abdul**

Damn, I think I'm in _love_.

 _Siyid_ Trowa's sister has got _some_ guts, not to mention a _wicked_ right cross.  Knocked that cow Yasmin flat on her padded ass.  She's gorgeous, too... that hair... those eyes... that _figure_.  What a woman...

Bad Abdul!  Bad!  Bad!  A funeral is _not_ the place to be thinking sinful thoughts about the sister of your leader's boyfriend!  Especially when it's your _leader's_ funeral!  Where's your sense of propriety?!

But still... she is beautiful... and I'm sure _Siyid Kawatir_ would have wanted me to watch over her... and _Siyid_ Trowa... for him...

Allah, I'm gonna _miss_ that kid...

** Rashid **

I _knew_ you were in trouble, Quatre, but I didn't know it was _this_ bad.

No matter who told you what, you _could_ have come to me for help. You're... you _were_... the son of my heart, and I'd have hidden and shielded you myself, be it from your sisters or from ESUN and Preventer. You've been one of the Corps since you were the frightened, snot-nosed twelve-year-old brat who saved my life; the same brat whose _own father_ had convinced his life was worth less than a Petri dish of mold and could be easily replaced on a whim...

... And, by Allah, how _right_ you were about him.

You weren't even phased when you'd found out your father _had_ done what you feared he would. That he'd had a dozen clones of you created, then scattered them throughout the rest of the colonies and ordered they be raised as you, to replace you should you be found wanting in his eyes. [4] Or that your father had already sired a natural born son only a little older than you, but whom he couldn't name his Heir because the boy's mother refused to marry him so he could replace your mother with her.

Oh, yes... I've known all along you were a natural born. Anyone who rants as much as your father did about it on MO-3's vid screen that day had to be hiding _something_ from you.

I approached your coffin, though I knew it to be empty, to say my final good-bye.

" _'As'al Allah 'an yamnahak alssalam, Kawatir, najl qalbi, hatta naltaqi marratan 'ukhraa fi aljann_ ," I said, placing a yellow rose on the lid, then look at your former friends in anger and disgust. [6] They could have believed you, _saved_ you, but instead they turned their backs on you.

I swear on your soul, Quatre, and on my honor as a Maguanac that, wherever they are, I'll hunt down the _animals_ who did this to you, and they'll pay for what they've done. With their _lives_ , if need be. [7] In the meantime, I'll go back to the desert, mourn your loss and plan for what's to come, and may Allah have mercy on us all.

Until we meet again, my young friend, salaam.

** Howard **

Ah, kid... what the Hell _happened_ to you? Who'd hate you enough to frame you for espionage?

I know it's a stupid question 'cause you're not here to answer it, but I still wanna know.

Y'know you woulda been welcome to join the Sweepers, right? We might do contract work for the government, cleaning up an' recycling space junk, but we ain't exactly _upstanding citizens_ of it. You coulda escaped to the Moon Base, brought Sandrock with ya, and hidden out there. You'd have fit right in with the rest of us and never have to see anyone you didn't want to.

I'm gonna leave this photo with ya; it's the one Trowa took on Peacemillion where I was giving you the noogie and you were laughing your ass off. I remember you saying then that you and your father didn't do the stuff a father _should_ do with his son.

So long, kiddo.

** Zechs **

I'm just here for Noin.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I never knew you as well as she did.

We'd never actually met face-to-face until _after_ we took down the Epyon de Telos, and at the time, you didn't seem overly fond of me. At first, I thought it was because you felt some sort of jealousy over the fact that Noin was with me, and I told her so. She just laughed and told me that any... ahem... _romantic_ feeling between the two of you were out of the question because one, she was in love with me, and two, you were in love with Barton. That's when she reminded me that I tried to kill you towards the end of the war. [8]

In my defense, I was pretty much insane at the time. In many ways, Epyon's system was far worse than the original ZERO System had been. [9] That doesn't excuse Dorothy's behavior, but in her defense, she was already functionally insane _before_ I exposed her to the Epyon-powered mobile doll system. Anyone who flies around in her own private, gold-plated shuttle, wears a custom tailored uniform, and talks about imprinting a war on her memory isn't exactly the poster child for mental stability.

Then again, she was related to both Treize and Duke Dermail, and while Treize wasn't nearly the villain he tried to pass himself off as, Dermail was a greedy, grasping son of a bitch who cheerfully threw his sister's son, his _own_ son, his only grandchild, and a lot of other people's children into the sausage grinder called war before any of us were old enough to know what it can do to your soul.

That includes Noin and myself.

But, as I said before, I'm just here for Noin.

**To be continued...**

**\- = 0 = -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Added a couple paragraphs from Abdul's perspective, and I wanted to make it sort of a counter (he's falling in love while those around him are grieving) to everyone else.
> 
> Author's Notes: Hot damn, the second chapter is FINALLY DONE!! Wanted to add a little more of Cat's perspective on things, and why Cathy's at the funeral without Trowa.
> 
> Sorry for making you wait, but I'm not abandoning this or any of my other tales. I'm still getting used to using a newish laptop that's wide enough to keep my shoulders from aching and that doesn't crash every five seconds and have me cussing. In fact, not only am I not abandoning my other fics, I am actually thinking of writing a sequel to this one.
> 
> Granted, since I'm working on so many right now, I probably won't start working on it for a while, and I'm stumped for a title.
> 
> Yes, I admit it; I got the main story and chapter titles from the song Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling and Lzzy Hale. If you haven't seen the video yet, check it out on YouTube. It is AMAZING.
> 
> Annotations:
> 
> [1] According to the GW manga Ground Zero, which is considered semi-canon in Japan, ESUN decreed all information OZ had on the Gundam pilots be purged from the record, both hard copy and digitized.
> 
> [2] Per Muslim tradition, a funeral must take place within twenty-four hours after death, and if there is a body, it must remain whole and untouched, meaning no autopsy, although a coroner can mend the body if it's been mutilated or suffered from trauma.
> 
> [3] Reference to the memorial scene in Tom Sawyer, where Tom watches his own funeral from the rafters of the church.
> 
> [4] In my rewrite of Gundam Wing, Quatre is something of a coding genius and did, indeed, create the programming for the ZERO System on the insistence of Instructor H. He'd started working on it just before the series starts and was attempting to remove the "takes over the mind of emotionally compromised pilots" component while he and Trowa travelled together to New Edwards.
> 
> [5] According to just about everything I've seen and read, but especially Episode Zero and Blind Target, Zaid Winner did an admirable job of keeping his only son sheltered and shielded from the media, so much so that no one knew who he was until they met him.
> 
> [6] More or less, it's Anglicized Arabic for "May God grant you peace, Quatre, son of my heart, until we meet again in Paradise," so if you see me writing a Maguanac calling Cat "Siyid Kawatir" (Siyid means Master) in some of my other stories, you'll know what it means.
> 
> [7] In my head canon, the Maguanacs are the direct descendents of the Bedouin; their system of justice predates Sharia law. Basically, Rashid is calling a blood feud on the ones who attacked Cat. You can find the entry on Bedouin justice here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedouin_systems_of_justice #Blood_feud_protocols
> 
> [8] Reference to Zechs and Cat's battle in Episode 47, Collision In Space.
> 
> [9] In the anime, Epyon's operating system was a similar yet different one from the ZERO, and seemed to drive most of its users insane, albeit temporarily (Dorothy was already insane). Here's a flipped screen shot: http://s28.postimg.org/yt4yhibvh/vlcsnap_00142b.png (remember to remove the spaces).
> 
> Review Answers:
> 
> Yue-chan (Guest): I'm glad you like this one so far, and I have every intention of finishing it. I replaced the laptop I was using, an old Dell that liked to crash if it got even the slightest bit warm, with a much newer Toshiba that doesn't even get warm.
> 
> FloraDelirus [AO3]: You're right; Cat is very bitter and angry in these first chapters, and he has every right to be. You got a major hint of what happened to him in this chapter and the previous, and you'll get the full details on the "incident" (i.e., "it") in Chapter Four.
> 
> dootadoot: You'll see what happened to Cat during the "incident" (i.e., "it") in Chapter Four, too. Please be patient.
> 
> Crystal Bruner: Here you go, hon. I'll try to have chapters three and four up within the next month. And, no, I'm not a teaser. My old laptop was nothing but trouble, and I finally got a newer one to replace it.
> 
> Crystal Burned: Thanks. Like I said to Yue-chan, I do have every intention to finish this, and updates will be posted as soon as they're finished.
> 
> Key Uchiha: Yes, Trowa will have to go through some hardships, and he'll have to fight like Hell, not only to try and win Quatre back, but to keep him safe.
> 
> Minoru-chan: Yes, Cat will find love, but I'm not saying with who just yet.
> 
> Next Chapter, the girls' thoughts.


	3. Tired Mechanical Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre's "death" and funeral, told from the first-person perspectives of the ladies.

 

  
**Chapter Summary:** Quatre's "death" and funeral, told from the first-person perspectives of the ladies.

**Trigger warning: mention of suicide and rape; homophobic language.**

**Disclaimers, Ratings, Warnings, etc.:** See Chapter One.

**Gundam Wing © Sunrise/Sotsu. Used without permission and not for profit.**

** Chapter Three: Tired Mechanical Heart **

** Yasmin **

Why the Hell am I _here?_

Quatre Raberba Winner was _never_ my little brother; he was nothing more to me than the bastard my father spawned on his pretty little French whore, and a _shadh jinsia rijs_ , an abomination unworthy of bearing Father's name. Quatre was no better than the bastard brat Father spawned on that American whore, and worse, _that_ particular whore was his _secretary_ , of all things. How cliché could he _get_?

Father should have denounced the abomination when he was twelve and made my Tariq his heir! At least _he's_ a part of Father's ancestral family! Then we could have reclaimed our _true_ surname of al'Fayiz and dropped that damnable English one!

Thankfully, the French whore died shortly after spawning her brat, and since Father was _so_ devout, she was cremated before anyone could think to check her blood for poison, or link it back to me. The only pity was that he didn't die with his mother.

As for Father's by-blow and his American mother, they were both killed before she could ever allow Father to marry her, and before he went through with his frequent attempts to acknowledge the bastard she bore as his and elevate him to Heir.

Oh, Allah... it's the sister of Quatre's _shadh jinsiaan sadiqiha_. What the Hell is **SHE** doing here? I'll have to head her off, since the rest of my useless "sisters" are just standing around with their thumbs up their asses. I start to tell her just what her brother is and that she's not welcome here...

She _hit_ me! That little **BITCH** hit me!

** Catherine **

How _dare_ that... that _bitch_... talk about Trowa and Quatre like _that?!_ I don't care if she _was_ his sister, she had _no right_ to say those horrible things...! Trowa _loved Quatre...!_

Oh, come on, who am I trying to kid here? Trowa didn't _love_ Quatre... he _adored_ him. And while _she_ had no right to say those things about my brother _or_ hers, I had no right to _hit_ her, either, or pop off at the other Gundam pilots. It sure _felt_ damn good...

... But I'm just Trowa's big sister. Most of the people here are related to Quatre, or _used_ to be their friends.

I'd never been more happy or relieved to find out Trowa's my little brother, Triton. What were the odds that we'd find each other twelve years after we were separated? I don't care if he _is_ gay, either, he's still my baby brother. _No one_ has the right to talk about him like he's some kind of a monster! And his so-called "friends" calling him a liar because he believed Quatre was innocent of whatever they were accusing him of! **_AUUGH!_**

Oh, _shit_. One of the other sisters is coming up to me. What the Hell does she want?

"Miss Bloom?" she asked, approaching me with her hand out like I was going to punch her, too. "I'm Doctor Iria Winner, Quatre's eldest sister. I'm pleased to finally get the chance to _meet_ you, even if the circumstances _are_ a lot less than pleasant."

I'm surprised one of Quatre's sisters would be _nice_ to me, especially after that _cow_ said all those horrible things about her own brother, but I knew who she was when she told me her name.

"You're the one Trowa talks about all the time. I feel like I already know you from his description," I said, shaking her hand. "Please, call me Cathy, Dr. Winner."

"Sure thing, but only if you call me Iria," she replied.

We went into the reception room and talked for a long while, drinking coffee and eating sweets. She asked me why Trowa isn't here with me, and I told her what happened. Before I left, she gave me a package to give to Trowa once he's recovered. It's about the size and shape of an optidisk... I'm thinking it's a good-bye letter.

As I left, I shot the other pilots another dirty look, just to remind them of what they're responsible for. They could have helped you, believed you, but they abandoned you instead, and they should never be allowed to _forget_ that.

** Iria **

Ow.

You can't say you didn't _deserve_ that, Yasmin, because you _did_.

You were damned and determined to make Quatre's life more of a living hell than it already was, weren't you? And after everything you and that arrogant _prick_ you're married to tried to do to our little brother, you deserved that punch. I only wish _I'd_ been the one to deliver it.

I also wish I weren't enjoying your current predicament so much, but you just had to shoot your big, stupid mouth off, didn't you?

And you wonder _why_ people think you're a bitch?

Wonder no more.

Much to my further amusement, Trowa's sister turned around and started yelling at your former friends for selling you out, _abandoning_ you... everything they'd done to you. She let them have it with both barrels, defending you and calling them out on their actions... or _lack_ of actions... while you were falsely accused of being a spy. When she finished, she turned to leave, and I decided that now would be a good time to talk to her.

"Miss Bloom?" I asked, approaching the younger woman with a cautious hand out. "I'm Doctor Iria Winner, Quatre's eldest sister. I'm pleased to finally get the chance to _meet_ you, even if the circumstances _are_ less than pleasant."

She looked at me, surprised, then took my hand, shook it, and said "You're the one Trowa talks about all the time. I feel like I already know you from his description," I said, shaking her hand. "Please, call me Cathy, Dr. Winner."

"Sure thing, but only if you call me Iria."

We wound up in the reception area, talking for quite a while over coffee and sweets, and I found her to be a warm, kind, and charming girl, and I'm not the only one. If the looks coming her way from your friend, Abdul, are anything to judge, I won't be surprised if he's calling on her for a date before the month is out. Calling him smitten would be an understatement.

Before we parted, I gave her the package you wanted me to give to Trowa. She told me he'd fallen ill, so he couldn't make it here today. I inquired further, and I promised her I'd come by the circus and check on him before they left for the US.

Your plan worked, Quatre, but maybe a little too well. I feel guilty letting Catherine and Trowa continue to believe you're dead, but I delivered your message for you. I can't predict how he'll take it when he finally sees what's on it, but I hope it'll help him to find some closure and allow him to move on. You both deserve to find some peace and happiness.

Wherever you wind up, _Harira, please_ remember to take care of yourself, and remember I _love_ you, my dearest baby brother.

** Sally **

Stupid, arrogant little pricks, all three of them! If it were possible for me to hurt _any_ of them as much as they'd hurt you, Quatre, I would, and they'd deserve it, too!

Then again, I'm not much _better_ , am I? You were completely innocent of the crimes you'd been accused of, but almost no one could see it... or maybe that should be almost no one _wanted_ to see it, not until it was nearly too late. I include myself in the former category; I _didn't_ see it, either, but _Trowa_ did, and he decided to do something about it.

I was so ashamed of my own actions, I couldn't even _look_ at you when Trowa found you and brought you to me that day, bruised, bloody, and barely breathing. You'd been beaten within an inch of your life and sodomized multiple times, and no one was sure if you'd live to tell what happened. All I could do was collect semen and saliva samples and hope they led to catching the animals who'd done that to you.

If your sister Iria had her way, I'd be up on manslaughter charges right now, instead of here at your funeral, and I'd deserve it, too. I left you alone for just a few minutes to give your "friends" a piece of my mind, then I found out you'd somehow managed to slip out of your room, ditched your guards, and climbed up to the roof, all with your eyes swollen shut. You were about to jump, and Trowa reached you in time to stop you.

As it was, Trowa wound up with _quite_ a shiner from that reverse head butt you gave him when he grabbed you off the edge of the roof at HQ, and if he hadn't turned his head so you'd hit his cheek, he would've needed major surgery to even _breathe_ right again. You'd managed to give his cheekbone a good crack, though I'm sure he's forgiven you for that.

All I can hope is that you'll be as forgiving.

** Relena **

What happened to us, Quatre?

We were _friends_ once, weren't we? Even now, you could tell me _anything_ at all and I'd hear you out, though that might not have been the case a few months ago.

A lot of people thought you might be guilty, including myself, and I had _no right_ to. I mean, the ESUN's entire justice system is based on the presumption of innocence, and as a representative of that system, I should've reminded everyone that you were innocent until proven otherwise, right?

But I didn't, did I. Like every one else, I sat back and judged you without looking beyond the surface, then judged you again when that horrible video was released.

Hiiro's blaming himself for this, and he shouldn't, because we're all to blame. I, at the very least, should have believed you.

** Hilde **

I don't know you.

Oh, don't get me wrong, we've _met_ a few times while I was in the sick bay on Peacemillion and in hospital on MO-2, and you _seemed_ like a nice guy, but the only people I _really_ know here are Duo and Relena, and I'm here for Duo's sake.

He's doing a great job of hiding it from everyone else here, but the truth is, he's devastated. It's like he's lost Solo or Father Maxwell and Sister Helen all over again.

He once told me the two of you were the best of friends, but something happened to make you cut him out of your life. He won't tell me what it was, but it's hurt him a lot. He tries to keep up a cheerful front, but if you look, you can tell much of the joy of living he once felt is gone. Most of the others feel it, too.

I blame _you_ for what this has done to Duo, and I will never, _ever_ forgive you for it.

** Noin **

I'm glad Zechs is here with me. I don't think I could have handled this on my own. Losing you feels too much like losing my own little brother, even though Riccardo's alive and well with Mama and Papa in Sicily.

I never turned on you like the others seemed to. I believed you, and _in_ you, no matter what the evidence said. I'm just disappointed that we couldn't prove your innocence sooner.

Rest in peace, Quatre. You _deserve_ it.

** Lady Une **

Why didn't I _listen_ to you?

Because, while I had a _feeling_ you weren't guilty, I _had_ to follow procedure, and your friends, all but one of whom seemed to believe you _guilty_ , wanted you transferred out. And when it looked like you were as innocent as you claimed to be, Dorothy Catalonia had to stick her creepy, forked eyebrows into it and post that damned video for the entire Sphere to see.

Cousin or not, Treize _didn't_ trust her, and neither do _I_.

She and Middie are ass-deep in whatever this is, I'd bet my commission on it. My money's on Catalonia bragging first. She has a big mouth, she _hates_ you, and she'll screw over anyone who gets in her way, whether she considers them an ally or not. After all, she screwed over Treize by allying herself with the White Fang during the war, didn't she?

** Middie **

Quite the turnout for this thing.

If you didn't know better, you'd think Quatre Raberba Winner was once someone _important_ and not a disgraced former CEO and Preventer. And if not for a dust-up between one of Winner's much-older sisters and that circus bitch Nanashi claimed is _his_ big sister, this would be almost _boring_.

It was difficult to get the four straight guys to... okay, maybe not _trust_ me... I'm pretty sure Nanashi told them _all_ about me and what I did when we were ten... to believe what I told them, but they _did_.

What _wasn't_ hard was framing the little homo for espionage. My hair, skin, and eyes are almost the same colors as his, so I didn't need makeup or a wig. I'm fairly androgynous looking already, and in my Preventer uniform, with my hair tucked in a cap and my breasts tacked down with a wide elastic bandage, I thought I passed myself off as him pretty well.

Hell, the four idiots certainly bought it until Nanashi brought back the evidence to _clear_ that prissy little blond bastard.

Shit, Dee's giving me the eye again, but I'm not worried. She may _suspect_ I'm somehow involved in framing Winner, but she can't _prove_ it, and I'm not about to give myself away, either.

Not unless Catalonia tries to renege on our _deal_.

 _That_ bitch was the one who got me involved in this mess. She claimed it'd be a great practical joke... _some_ joke... and that she would help me get Nanashi back.

Well, thanks to her, he won't even _speak_ to me anymore.

Still, it was worth all this to see the look on Winner's face when he heard Nanashi say he'd rather fuck a maggot-ridden corpse, even if he was talking to _me_ at the time I recorded it. It was almost as satisfying as the look he had when I told him Nanashi and I were lovers and getting married.

Nanashi is _mine_ , and if I can't have him, I'll make damn sure _no one else_ can, either.

** Dorothy **

Why am I **_HERE?_**

I **HATE** Quatre Raberba Winner with all my heart.

Yes, I said "hate," present tense. The little bastard _isn't_ dead. I _know_ it. He didn't have the balls to kill me on Libra, and he hasn't the balls to commit suicide now. Suicide takes a certain amount of courage to commit, and Winner doesn't have any. He's just a frightened little boy running from the big, bad, blonde haired bitch.

So you go ahead and run away, little Winner. Sooner or later, I'll find you, and when I _do_... you'll be dead _for real_.

**-=0=-**

When all was said and done, I wound up _not_ going to my own funeral. The idea was just too morbid for me, and while I may be a lot of things, morbid isn't one of them. I'll leave that crap for Duo and his whole "Shinigami" routine.

Seriously, who the Hell _willingly_ calls himself the God of Death, anyway?

Shaking my head to clear it, I made a beeline to the ticket counter and got into queue. In a few minutes, I'm face to face with the ticket agent, a good-looking man just a couple years older than I am, asking me where I'd like to go.

"A one way ticket to San Francisco, please," I said to him with my most charming smile, even though it didn't reach my eyes.

I know I said I wanted to find a small town in the middle of nowhere to settle down into, but I found out that many of the attitudes of a lot of those towns mirror the attitudes of many of the Colonies, especially where being gay is concerned. Besides, what better place for a emancipated gay minor seeking his freedom to lose himself in than a city which already has a respectable gay community in it?

"Right away, sir," he said, then asked, "will you be flying economy, business, or premium class?"

I thought about it for a moment. I could certainly _afford_ the premium ticket; I mean, I made sure my new identity had plenty of money, but a lone teenager flying premium or business class might look suspicious. I opted for economy and swiped my credit card as he rang it up a moment later.

Boarding the supersonic transport, I quickly found my seat, buckled myself up, and settled in for a short nap. In a few hours, I'll be landing in the City by the Bay, and staying in another cheap hotel until I can figure out what I'm going to do next...

I can't wait.

**_To be continued..._ **

**\- = 0 = -**

**Author's Note:** Dorothy's views on Quatre and suicide **aren't** mine; they're what I think **hers** would be on the subjects. I still, at times, think of her as the crazy platinum bitch who hadn't learned anything from two wars between Earth and the Colonies, and tried to incite the people of Brussels to riot in Endless Waltz.

NO, Duo is NOT Quatre's half-brother in this; as I mentioned in Chapter One, his brother's name was Christopher Alexander Thomas (Thomas was his mother's maiden name), he died in an Alliance raid at the age of eight, and Cat took on his identity.

Oh, in case you were wondering, Yasmin is sort-of a parody of a lot of antis I and other 3 x 4 shipper have dealt with in recent months, including some who think Quatre is an manipulative abuser.

 _Shadh jinsia rijs_ is Arabic for "faggot abomination," and _shadh jinsiaan sadiqiha_ translates to "faggot boyfriend."

 **Next Chapter:** The incident mentioned in the first three chapters, told from Quatre's first-person perspective. **Trigger Warning:** there will be graphic depictions of physical violence, bullying, sexual harassment, and gang rape.

For the squeamish, there **will** be an edited version posted on Fanfiction Dot Net.


End file.
